


Who Watches the Watchers?

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dreams, F/M, Found Family, Light Angst, Playing Fast and Loose with History Here, but they keep coming back so its fine, fun little spirk reference for you all, its a happy ending though, more or less, rating for mild gore and sexual references, the old gaurd au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Tasha didn't fear her first death.
Relationships: Data/Tasha Yar
Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875274
Kudos: 9
Collections: Star Trek Bingo Summer 2020





	Who Watches the Watchers?

**Author's Note:**

> For the bingo prompt "historical AU." I watched The Old Guard and loved the worldbuilding enough to actually do some research for this fic. I'm no historian, I'm sure I got plenty of things wrong, but at least I tried. You don't really need to see the movie to understand the fic, but I still recommend it because it's a great film. 
> 
> The title is technically the same as a TNG episode, but there's not really a connection. It just felt appropriate to me.

Tasha didn’t fear her first death. She’d never been able to sit still, to be content to acquire a piece of land and watch it farmed, or even sit at the right hand of leaders and warriors, advising their battle tactics. Kievan Rus was a new expanse, but flourishing, and Tasha loved her land and her people, and to sit still while the warriors went out, seeking greatness, was unthinkable.

Women were discouraged from battle in those days, but Tasha remembered the stories of the great shield-maidens who came before her, and it was those stories that drove her to pick up an axe and to fight. So to die was not something she feared. It would come for her.

It came in the snow, deep in winter, and even her layers of furs were not enough to keep the chill from seeping into her bones as she lay on the ground, bleeding from a wound in her abdomen deep enough to pierce all her inner organs. The blow came not from an enemy of her people, but one of them, a warrior who had been drunk on wine and blood, who had seized her in the night and attempted to convince her what a woman was supposed to be good for. Tasha had fought back, and fought dirty, kicking and scratching until she had been able to seize his axe, a wide swing plunging it deep into his chest. But not before he had cursed at her, and his rogatina had stabbed deep into her gut. Tasha kept herself upright long enough to watch the light fade from his eyes, her fingers clawing into the falling snow, her hair escaping its long braids to fall around her face as her arms gave out. It was not the warrior’s death she had hoped for, but she could not call it a dishonorable one. The chill vanished, replaced by a deep warmth spreading to her fingertips and toes, and Tasha coughed red into the snow and smiled as her eyes fluttered closed and her breath gave out.

And then she screamed. Dying, as it turned out, rarely hurt quite so bad as coming back to life.

In those early days, she dreamed. Flashes, loud and confusing, but so real, every time she closed her eyes. They began in the wake of that first death, between the last breath and the first, images of strangers. A serene-looking woman with dark black curls cascading over her shoulders like a tumultuous sea, her eyes dark as she whirled, wielding a spear with deadly precision. A stunning black man, his eyes covered, his body decorated with gold jewelry, an ornate bow slung over his back. A pale, bald man in a chain shirt, his sword tucked behind a shield bearing a crest she could barely make out, in orange and silver and green. And a fourth, a man with blue eyes and features like the Romans she clashed swords with along the shores of the Black Sea, a gladius strapped to his belt and a dagger in his hand.

It was this last man Tasha lingered over in her waking hours. All puzzled her, but his eyes haunted her. The others did not look directly at her in her dreams, but he…his gaze pierced her, and Tasha could not perceive if this was a Roman threat or something else, igniting a heat in her that bled into waking moments, so similar to the lust for battle and yet also not. But she did not believe in prophetic dreams.

Her first death had come without fear, and her second…Tasha had not understood at first, waking up in the snow, what was happening. She had only know the agony of flesh knitting back together, staring in horror through the tears in her clothes, the blood still seeping, the wound covering over and closing up, as if it had never been there, while the man who had given it to her lay beside her, staring unseeing up at the stars, cold as the snow. Tasha had heard the legends of men who suffered fatal wounds and walked away, great heroes blessed by the gods, but Tasha was not a great hero, and she could not have said if this was a blessing or a curse. She fled, in the opposite direction of camp, her boots leaving deep imprints, flecks of blood staining white as she ran. But no one followed her. If there was vengeance to be sought for the man’s death, it did not befall Tasha. She made camp deep in the forest, huddled beneath the great trees, her knees clutched to her chest and her breath heaving, shaking with fear. She drew her axe, clutching it upright between her legs, slicing her thumb across its sharp blade, and watching as unnatural magics healed the wound. Red littered the snow.

In the end, the second death came swiftly, not by her own hand as she had contemplated, but at the jaws of a wolf in the forest, who had caught her unawares on a hunt. In the end, she had not had to worry about what might happen to her if those in civilization tracked her down: she felt sharp teeth bite into her flesh, tearing, and told herself that this was right. The universe was correcting a mistake that had been made.

And she had woken up again, unable to move, half her flesh ripped in pieces, the squirming organs inside her visible as bones cracked back into place and flesh stretched to cover them. Tasha howled in anguish, her head tipped back against the ground, and the agony in her voice was enough to frighten off the wolf who gnawed at her, and any other animal who might have come close. When she was able, she curled up on her side, sobbing desperately, arms wrapped around her stomach, her furs soaked with her own blood, so tattered now that the cold needed no assistance to seep in. She laid there, unmoving except for the shivers and cries, the elements draining the lifeforce from her body and when she died the third time, she was afraid.

And still, she woke.

She kept to the forest, unwilling to go back to the cities with this curse upon her. She was frightened, but she was still a warrior. She knew how to hunt, to skin a pelt and patch her torn clothes, to use the meat for food and to forage where the animals did. Winter dragged on, but she managed, and come springtime she had almost made herself at home with her new life. She had set up shelter in a cave, and while it wasn’t the luxury of beds and baths that she’d known before, it wasn’t a bad life. The dreams continued to plague her, but she put them from her mind as often as possible. She kept herself amused, in her free time, carving bones or using rocks to keep notes of her days on the walls.

When summer came, footsteps disturbed her sleep, and Tasha’s eyes snapped open, but she held very still, one hand slinking in increments towards her dagger. She listened as the footsteps drew closer, echoing against the rock, and then lunged, her knife sinking deep into the shoulder of the man who crouched beside her. He fell back, giving Tasha the opportunity to whirl around, scooping her axe off the ground and charging for the second man, who danced just out of reach, whipping his bow off his back faster than she could blink, the arrow nocked and pointed for her heart, and Tasha’s breath caught as she took in his strange clothes and the gold bands that she recognized from her dreams. He wore a cloth about his eyes, covering them like she had seen, but when he spoke, it was in her own tongue. “We aren’t here to hurt you.”

His companion stood, and Tasha spun on her heels, still crouched, axe in her hands. She recognized him as well, the man with the blue eyes. Her gaze flicked to his sword, but he did not reach for it, just held out his hands.

“We did not expect to find you so soon,” he said, and he too spoke her language flawlessly.

The bowman nodded. “Usually, it takes years to track the new ones down.” He glanced towards his companion. “Lucky for us, we were in the area, and Data recognized your gear.”

She looked between them, her eyes narrowed. Neither made a threatening move. She took a step back, relaxing her posture a little, although she kept a tight grip on her axe. “What do you mean, you were looking for me?”

“We dreamt about you,” Data said. There was an odd cadence to his words, and he cocked his head at her. “When you died.”

Tasha swallowed hard. Her fingers flexed on the wooden handle. “How do you know about that? How did you find me?”

“We’re telling you,” the bowman said. He lowered his weapon, letting the string go loose, although Tasha noted he kept the arrow nocked. “My name is Geordi, and this is Data. You’re one of us. We had the dreams, and they led us to you. We’ve been looking for you for months.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It is difficult to comprehend,” Data said. “But what answers we have, we promise we will give them to you. We are not here to hurt you.”

Tasha looked between them again, suspicious. “You’re like me?”

They nodded. Tasha tensed when Data drew his dagger, but he held up a hand, and then laid it out flat, slicing the blade across his palm before handing it to Geordi, who did the same. Tasha leaned forward, her eyes widening as blood welled and then stopped, the cuts healing over, just as her own wounds had done. Without thinking, she relaxed, her axe falling to her side. “You’re like me.”

Geordi nodded. “We’re here to help.”

They sat, and Geordi and Data explained what they knew, a tale of immortality and warriors who healed from their wounds that would have been far-fetched if Tasha had not seen what she’d seen. They told her of the dreams, how when a new immortal was born the dreams led them to each other, how the journey could take years of searching, trying to piece together what the dream images meant, where it should lead. The last to be born, they said, had been nearly a hundred years ago. Jean-Luc, they called him, a man under Frankish rule. Data had crossed the Roman Empire to find him. He was traveling now with the eldest of them, the woman Tasha had seen, called Deanna of Troy, of Greece so old that Tasha could hardly fathom it. Geordi himself was only a little younger than Deanna, a century or so, from a rich kingdom of warrior herders and seafarers, the Macrobians, where the beauty of the men was the envy of all those around. Geordi laughed as he said it, and Tasha found herself smiling. If Geordi was an example of his people, they must have been very beautiful indeed. Data was even younger, but if he was to be believed he was still a thousand years Tasha’s senior, five hundred less than Geordi, from the height of Rome’s first empire.

“We don’t know how far it goes back,” Geordi told her. “Farther than us. But the others…”

He grew quiet, and Data took over. “There were four, when Geordi and Deanna found me. An elder two, even older than Deanna, by millennia.”

“What happened to them?”

“We…can die,” Geordi said. Data cast him a glance, and Tasha could understand why. His friend’s voice was strained, as if opening an old wound. “We don’t know how, or why,” he said, “but sometimes, we just…stop healing. Kirk went first, and when he did, Spock wasn’t long behind.” He laughed, softly. “You couldn’t separate those two if you tried.” He shook himself, and continued, “Other than that, we don’t age. We just…keep going as we are.”

Tasha turned that over in her mind. An indefinite future stretched out ahead of her. An age without death. Perhaps that should have frightened her more, but who did she have to live and die for? Her parents were long since dead. She and her sister never spoke. There was Kievan Rus, but only as a whole, and Tasha could still love her people without standing as a part of them.

“What do we do?” she asked.

They smiled.

Geordi was the one who suggested making for the nearest city. It would take a while before Deanna and Jean-Luc made their way to join them, and it was better to wait in relative comfort than a cave in the woods. Tasha remained nervous, but she followed them, her hand always close to her axe, eyes tracking the strange looks that her companions drew. The first few nights, they spent at an inn, Data making arrangements fluidly, even as the innkeeper looked skeptical of the trio. There was only one room, but there was a partition, and Data and Geordi let her be while Tasha drew the first bath she’d had in months – outside of dips in nearby streams – moaning as she sank into the fire-heated water. She carded her hair back, untangled the twigs and dirt from her braids, knocking free the mats until it shone golden again. When she stepped back around the partition, dressed in fresh clothes, both men glanced up. Curiously, Geordi still had not removed the strip around his eyes.

Tasha knelt beside them, folding her hands together. Their weapons had been placed on a far table, out of reach. They seemed almost relaxed, and Tasha found herself relaxing too. Astonishing, really, how fast Tasha was willing to accept the allegiance of men she didn’t know, but she had dreamt of them without knowing, and perhaps that did mean something after all. She learned that Geordi was blind, and had been from birth, using his other sense to track the world around him, honing his skills until he was one of the finest marksmen his kingdom had produced. He and Data traveled together more often than not, and Jean-Luc largely with Deanna, the lot of them meeting up every decade or so, sending letters back and forth to safe houses that they frequented, occasionally taking on jobs needing skilled warriors to do what they believed was right. It was an honorable notion, she thought.

They spoke several languages between them, occasionally murmuring to each other in one of them, but mostly they kept to Tasha’s, so she could understand. She spoke only a little Latin, and had learned it for the same reason they had learned hers. Kiev and Constantinople had strained relationships at the best of times, but between battle and trade, understanding between them was paramount. 

Eventually, they set up in a small shack on the outskirts of the city, only two rooms but spacious enough to accommodate three people easily. Tasha had lived with fellow soldiers before. She had long since lost any sense of feminine modesty, and it became easy to disrobe in front of them, especially when neither appeared to have any qualms about doing the same. It was practical, especially when summer’s heat was at its highest, and although Tasha still found herself captivated by Data, perhaps even more than she had been in her dreams now that the feeling was not tinged with the thirst for battle, she forced herself to consider it clinically, to appreciate the Roman on the surface alone. Tasha could appreciate the male form, even if she had chosen not to do so all her life, and Data and Geordi were both beautiful in their own ways. She did not dwell on it much, settling into a camaraderie with them easily, so that by the time two years had passed she was almost accustomed to the dreams of Deanna and Jean-Luc, and had almost forgotten what they meant.

She was the one to answer the door at the knock, and her eyes grew wide when she took in the two standing beyond it. She stepped back, calling to Data and Geordi, who both bounded upright, and she watched as the cluster embraced. Deanna was the first to turn to Tasha, clasping her arms warmly in greeting as she introduced herself and Jean-Luc, tacking on, “although I’m sure Data and Geordi have told you all about us,” with a smile, the exchange fluid, if more accented than Data or Geordi. Over the past two years, they had taught her bits of their own languages, and the ones Deanna and Jean-Luc spoke, and Tasha managed a clumsy return in Greek that made Deanna’s eyes light up with affection. Beyond her, Tasha could see Jean-Luc standing close to Data, murmuring to him in Latin, and although she knew Data was the elder of the two, Jean-Luc had more visible years on him, and Tasha was struck by the image of an old general speaking with one of his most trusted soldiers.

The mood of the evening was jovial, the meal clustered around the table, jostling each other, and Tasha found herself easily swept away by it.

They stayed a few months more, but Tasha had never been one to keep still, and nearly three years had gone by since she had first died. She could feel the itch, pulsing under her skin, ready to move on, and here were four people she had grown to love and admire, ready to take her away for adventures beyond.

At first, they stayed together, traveling across the expanse of Kievan Rus, before turning sharply south, taking odd jobs along the way. They split as they crossed back towards the Black Sea, Data and Geordi taking a turn down for Cairo, Deanna and Jean-Luc back west towards Rome. Tasha spent three long nights before the divide thinking, and when it finally came she kissed Geordi’s cheek, and Data’s, and went with Deanna and Jean-Luc.

The dreams had long since gone, but as she went she found new ones taking their place. Her current travel companions were gorgeous in their own right – Tasha particularly admired Deanna, a woman of such beauty that wars might be fought over her – but she found herself preoccupied, recalling Data’s blue eyes. In the years with him she had found herself looking often, a strange feeling in her chest unlike any felt before, save in battle, that roaring call of fire surging through her veins. She recalled watching him split wood, his strong arms bare, the muscles rippling with the effort, and the pulse that had gone through her at the sight he had made, glistening with sweat in the sun. She had made use of that image in the bath many times, but had studiously avoided examining the feelings attached to it. They all disappeared at times, into town or just for a moment to themselves, and Tasha had to imagine they were taking care of themselves the same way, fulfilling some urges that felt too intimate to share. After all, the men and women in the taverns might have admired Geordi’s strong, dexterous hands, or Data’s broad shoulders, but there was a difference between a warm bed for a night and the simple fact that Tasha would be seeing these men forever. No pleasure was worth spoiling that.

She wondered if she ought to be as attracted to Geordi. She had shared just as much time with him. But she remembered the first dreams, how Data had seemed so close. Geordi was attractive, and any woman – or man – would be lucky to have him, but he didn’t captivate Tasha as Data did.

She asked Deanna about it once. Deanna had suggested they head for the Silk Road, down towards China’s far edge, for a change of pace. Neither Tasha nor Jean-Luc had ever made it that far south, and so they agreed, heading east until they reached the coastline, where the mouth of the Chang Jiang bled out into the sea. It had been over a decade since they had last seen the other two, although Tasha had seen a few of their letters, picked up in a safe house along the way. At a stretch with no inn close enough to stay, they’d camped out along the water, and Tasha had sat beside Deanna on the riverbank, looking into its depths.

“You miss them,” Deanna murmured, and Tasha stared at her, then hung her head, nodding in acknowledgement. “It’s alright,” Deanna told her kindly. “I often miss them too, when we travel apart. We’ll see them again in a few years, I’m sure.”

Tasha studied Deanna, and after a long moment, she ventured, “Do you love them?”

“With all of my being.” Deanna answered without hesitation. “They are my family.” She cast a glance at Tasha, and understanding crossed her face as surely as if she’d read Tasha’s mind. She smiled. “There are many forms of love, Tasha. But to answer your true question, no. It’s never been like that between any of us.”

“Why not?”

“I could say because it’s easier. You spend a night with a willing partner, and you never see them again. That way, it doesn’t hurt when they die, because you never see it happen.”

Tasha kept her gaze on the water. She had never bedded a partner like that. She’d found relief with her hand when the urge arose, and considered that good enough. She’d wondered, sometimes, at hearing things through tavern walls or amongst soldiers in their tents, if maybe there was something she was missing on, but there were a number of reasons not to bed another, and only a few of them had to do with blue eyes.

Oblivious to Tasha’s thoughts, Deanna spread her fingers in the grass, toying with the blades as she continued, “The bonds we share are a very intimate form. I do believe some have to potential for romance. I’ve seen it. But it’s never been that way with us. I love Jean-Luc, and Data, and Geordi, and I have no doubt that they love me, but that feeling has always been familial amongst us. It’s simply…never felt right otherwise.”

“How would you know if it felt right?”

“You’ll understand when you feel it,” Deanna said. She stood and offered Tasha her hand. Tasha took it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. Deanna threw her a sly smile, playful and teasing as she said, “You can come to me with anything, of course. If ever you needed to talk.”

Tasha nodded, but she didn’t say anything more.

It would have been easier to pretend it was a crush, a mere heart-stirring that meant nothing. But the longer she stayed away, the more Tasha reflected on that first time, Data’s eyes locking with hers in that cave, just as in her dream. She thought of him in battle as she’d seen him, lithe grace as he fought. She remembered the moments together, Data brushing out her hair and braiding it for her, meals shared together by the fire, Tasha laughing when Data cocked his head at her, his eyes shining with mirth. It made her heart pound, her chest tight and aching with longing. It wasn’t fair.

And yet, as another decade turned over, Tasha began almost dreading the meeting. They were to Greece, the meetup established when they’d parted, and as they approached the town they were to meet in, Tasha felt a heaviness pool in her stomach. It stayed when they set up in the safehouse, the ruins of what Deanna said had once been a temple, grand as it overlooked the cliffside, long since abandoned. It was still grand, albeit in a different way, and Tasha found herself running her fingers over the great stone pillars, looking out at the ocean beyond, wondering just how it would feel to dive from the cliffs, if she would plunge gracefully into the ocean, or at this height simply smash against the rocks.

There was enough cover inside to keep them hidden and protected from the elements, but Tasha found herself too restless to stay indoors. She ventured into town often instead, frequenting merchant stalls for bits of sweets that reminded her of home, things traded for and brought back to Kiev. It had been years since they’d even passed through that way, much less lingered, and Tasha had known that she would miss it, but the longing for home surprised her with its intensity. She wondered if, perhaps, her longing for Data had gotten wrapped up in those feelings, if she could no longer fully separate one from the other.

She found herself sitting on a stone wall, perched not far from the city center, watching children skip by and women go about their day, men laughing over their business. The sun shone, reflecting off the white and sandy stones, the salt of the ocean on the breeze rustling through Tasha’s hair. It no longer weighed heavy against her head, and Tasha still found herself unused to the sensation, brushing wisps of it away from her forehead. She had not enjoyed severing it, but it would grow again.

She heard the footsteps long before the reached her, even and cautious, a hunter cautiously approaching a fierce beast. She looked up, shielding her gaze from the sun, and her eyes widened, sitting bolt upright. “Data,” she breathed. The ache in her chest swelled.

The decades had not aged him, but she had not expected them to. His eyes were still as sharp as she remembered them, but softened when he looked at her, blue as the sky beyond them. He had changed his clothes, a style of dress she didn’t recognize, but his gladius still hung by his side, trusty and familiar to him as her axe was to her. A small pouch hung off his belt, just beside the dagger at his hip. “Tasha,” he greeted her, and gestured towards the empty space of wall beside her. “May I?”

“Of course.” She pulled her legs up, crossing them, pressing her back against the building behind her. Her heart pounded in her ears, unbefitting a warrior but unable to cease its frantic pace. “It’s been too long.”

“It always is,” Data agreed. He took a seat opposite her, one knee pulled up, the other resting firmly on the ground. He regarded her, and Tasha fought the need to look away. She met him head on, as if this too were a battle. He cocked his head. “You have changed your hair.”

“There was a skirmish,” Tasha told him. “Just before we crossed back into Persia. We fought and won, but a man seized my braids and severed them before I put my axe though him.” She grimaced at the thought of it. “They will grow back.”

“I did not mean it as a criticism,” Data said. He hesitated, and then murmured, “This look becomes you as well.” He shifted on the wall, and Tasha watched him, her breath stilling in her chest. He broke first, looking to the ground, his fingers twitching, as if reaching for something, but unsure yet what to take.

They both fell silent, and when they spoke again it was together.

“I have-“

“When-“

They stopped. Tasha swallowed hard. “You first,” she offered.

Data put his hand to his belt, and withdrew a small jar. “For you,” he said, offering it out to her. Tasha frowned and took it, holding it up to the light, and her eyes widened again when she realized what was inside it.

“Honey,” she breathed, removing the lid with haste, swirling her finger in the amber syrup and lifting it, watching it drip down, back into the pot.

“Geordi and I were in Constantinople recently,” Data told her. “I…I believed you might enjoy a taste of home.”

Then it really was honey from Kiev. Tasha sucked her finger into her mouth, closing her eyes with a moan as the sweet taste hit her tongue. She pulled it out with a pop, and when she opened her eyes Data was looking away again. She blinked, and then her eyebrows rose as she grasped the meaning of the flush on his cheeks. She smiled. “Thank you, Data. It’s perfect.”

“I have thought of you often, since you departed,” he said softly. “I often miss the others when we separate, but this was not the same.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Tasha agreed. She dipped her finger again, licking it more slowly this time, smiling slyly at the way it made Data’s blush deepen when he glanced towards her, looking away again quickly. She set the jar aside, recapping it, and pushed herself up on her knees to kneel beside him. “I thought about you too. That’s what I was going to say. How much I missed you when I was gone.”

His gaze rose again to meet hers, his eyes wide, suddenly hopeful. Tasha slid closer. “I dreamt of you,” she murmured. “About what it would be like to see you again. What I might say to you.” The fear that had weighed heavy on her was gone. She was a warrior, and with Data before her, as strong as she and yet equally felled by emotion, there was nothing to hold her down. She drew level with him, nearly in his lap, and whispered for only him to hear, “No man has ever captivated me as you have.”

“No woman has ever made me feel half of what I feel for you,” Data breathed in return. He was so close, close enough that when Tasha reached out, she could cup his cheek, and he pressed into the touch. Vaguely, Tasha was aware that they were not truly alone, that there were other people in the city, on the streets beyond, going about their business. All it would have taken was one turn of the head to see them. But what would they see? A young woman embracing a young man. A couple, close enough to kiss. And that wasn’t so bad.

“This is likely a poor idea,” she whispered against Data’s lips, just tantalizingly out of reach. “If this goes wrong…”

“It will not,” Data said. Up close, she could see flecks of gold in his blue eyes, shining like tiny yellow suns. There was tenderness in his fingertips when he touched her, sliding his hand up her arm, cradling the back of her neck. “This could never be wrong.”

She kissed him for all she was worth, lunging forward to close the gap, as fierce in this as she was in battle, and Data surrendered without a fight, his hand tightening against her, gasping into her lips. When they broke, she rested her forehead against his and murmured, “How did you find me?”

“Geordi and I met with the others,” he said. “Deanna told us you had gone into town.” He stroked his hands through her short hair, and Tasha found that when he touched it, she didn’t mind it half so much. “From there, I simply…took the path I needed.”

Tasha grinned. “Like destiny.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

There would be others. Worf, honorable and fierce, felled by Tasha’s own blade in one of many battles as the mighty horde of warriors pushed their way into her homelands, gasping back to life amongst the dead and eventually Tasha’s shield-brother in all things. Brave Beverly with the fiery hair, the healer fighting to save her people from the sweeping sickness that plagued the lands before succumbing to it herself, a death no less honorable for the type of warrior she was. And William, youngest by far, nine hundred years Tasha’s junior in the colonies of Alaska, loyal beyond measure. They would all meet, would all break apart and come together, would stand side-by-side as they fought when it was time to fight and rejoiced when there was peace, a family even when their travels took them worlds away from each other. Age brought with it knowledge, with it wisdom, and Tasha found that each time she parted from any one of them, the ache was a little less, knowing they would always come together again.

She didn’t always travel with Data. Oh, they had more adventures together than she could count, fierce battles tempered by love. And when they were apart, she missed him like the tide missed the shore, like the winter longed for snow. But she dreamt of him always, kept close in her heart, so that when they met again, it was every time like the first.

It had been so long since Tasha had feared death. With Data by her side, she could not fathom ever fearing it again.


End file.
